


Truth in Your Eyes

by brass_tacked



Category: Captain America, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Kitchen Sex, M/M, NSFW, PWP, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:12:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brass_tacked/pseuds/brass_tacked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wakes Tony up in the middle of the night and then walks away without a word. Tony investigates and they end up in the kitchen. Failure at conversation follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hackedmotionsensors because she seemed to be having a bad day.
> 
> Also this is unedited for the most part so sorry about any errors.

“Tony?” Steve whispered from the doorway. His oversized body blocked most of the light from streaming into the room, but the little that crept through managed to hit Tony right on the face. 

With a groan Tony rolled over and covered his head with a pillow in a desperate attempt to stop the light from reaching his eyes and waking him up any more. “What, Steve?”

He did not respond, but Tony could hear the shuffle of slippered feet on carpet and the click of the door closing. “Steve? I swear to God that if you don’t have a good reason for waking me up at whatever the hell time this is,” Tony threw the pillow off of his head and floundered for his phone on the nightstand, “3:43, fuck why aren’t you asleep? Is there an emergency? Do I need to suit up?”

It took until he was halfway to the door to comprehend that Steve was no longer in the room. Steve was not in the hall either. Tony finally found him sitting at the table in a dark kitchen and wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants. Steve never looked up, never even acknowledged Tony’s presence. “Everything okay, buddy?”

“Go back to bed Tony.” The words sounded forced from Steve’s throat, tight and uncomfortable. His shoulders shuddered slightly and the movement was accompanied by the sound of a half sigh, half moan, but altogether a noise filled with despair. “I’m sorry I woke you."

“Well you did wake me so now you get to deal with me.” Tony said while attempting to read the expression on Steve’s face in the dim light provided by the small window above the sink.

“Please,” his voice broke on the word, his shoulders sagged and head bowed closer to the table, “Please, just go. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Tony stepped closer and Steve jerked away in response. “Fine.” Clenching his teeth, Tony moved in the other direction. He could see Steve’s shoulders relax, but only for second before Tony flicked on the switch and the overhead light brought the agony on Steve’s face into full relief. Steve stood and began to walk out of the room, Tony blocked his way. “Talk to me.”

The movement was quick. Tony found his wrist caught in a tight grip and Steve put his Captain America jaw on full display. “I don’t want to talk to you, Tony.”

“Then what do you want to do?” A slight tug to test the hold on his arm earned him a glare. 

“Something that I shouldn’t.” He stepped forward, crowded Tony’s back into the cabinets. 

The bite of the countertop against Tony’s side was less than comfortable but kept him grounded as he felt his world tilt dangerously. “Oh?” He tried for a casual tone. “And, uh, how long have you wanted to, um, do this something?”

“Always. Forever. But today? Since the mission this afternoon.” He released Tony’s wrist in favor of carding his fingers through the other man’s hair while pressing his body closer, leaving no space between them. Tony tensed but did not attempt to escape. 

“The mission? You mean the one that involved mysterious pollen coating the streets of Newark?” 

“Less talking” Steve’s fingers stopped moving. Instead his hands anchored Tony’s head in place as he crushed their lips together. Tony did not react at first, he entertained the thought that he should push away, run some tests, stop this madness. But then Steve’s tongue was there, pushing against his lips, and he melted into the movements. His hands moved of their own will and grasped at Steve’s bare shoulders, his nails made a trail to mark their exploration of taut muscles and left crescent marks when he pulled their bodies even closer together. 

It was fast and messy. Loud groans, grasping hands, and shuddering breath. Clothes were pushed aside, but not removed. The tension slipped away.

 

The second time was better. Tony lifted onto the counter. The kisses softer, slower. Groans replaced with soft moans. Sweatpants and boxers pushed off and forgotten on the floor. 

“I want you.” 

Tony understood Steve’s heady whisper, felt the thrill through his body. “Bedroom. Lube.”

“Too far.” He moved away from Tony and both felt the bite of the night’s cold, made worse when Steve opened the refrigerator.

The space gave Tony a second of clear thought, just long enough to process what Steve had grabbed, “Butter, really?”

Steve’s response was a smile. His lips covered Tony’s once more and any thoughts were extinguished. The sound of the plastic lid coming off of the tube was lost to him. Then the finger was sliding, gliding, probing. A shudder moved from one man to the other and back again. A second finger joined the first. Scissored. Curled. Pressed. A third. Then they were gone.

“Ready?” Tony could barely manage a nod in response. His body strained forward. His legs opened wider and hips moved closer to the edge, to Steve. Then there was a burn pressing through him. For a moment his body fought back, his breath sharp and short and forced. Steve reassured. Rubbed his shoulders. Pressed his cheek to the top of Tony’s head. But still moved. Deeper. Tighter. Better. 

Then he stopped and they waited together. Steve tensing. Tony relaxing. Finally, forever, only a minute, and Tony was ready. He pressed forward. Almost off the counter now. Steve’s arms moved down, held his hips. Movement, slow and sweet. But deep. So good. Not enough. 

Steve braced himself and lifted Tony. The movement brought Tony’s body down, Steve deeper inside, buried to the hilt. They shuddered together and barely hung on. Then Steve turned and new awareness cascaded through them. A step later and Tony was spread across the table, Steve loomed above him. Deeper, harder. The sound of wood scratching across the tiled floor joined their sounds, added to their harmony. 

A calloused hand, still slick with butter and sweat, reached down and grabbed. Moved in unison with the thrust of hips and turned Tony’s moans into keens of pleasure. The pace picked up. Then tense bodies, Tony arched up off the table. Steve’s feet planted in place, his body still and trembling at once. When it was over they collapsed to the floor.

 

“We should talk.” Steve’s voice broke the quiet of the kitchen. 

“What if I don’t want to?” Tony felt Steve tense at the words, felt him pull away just an inch, but it meant so much more. He wanted that inch back. “Do you regret it?”

The quiet hurt and the inch remained. And then it disappeared and Steve was there. “No.”

“Good” A hum of the throat and Tony reached out, drummed his fingers against Steve’s arm before turning the touch into something more.

“Um, Tony?” Steve pulled away again. Tony followed, insistent, and replaced his fingers with his lips. The only acknowledgement he offered was a brief, wicked smile and wink. But still Steve pulled away.

With a disappointed sigh Tony rolled off of Steve’s chest, “Yes, Steve?”

“The sun’s coming up.”

“Oh,” Tony replied. “So?”

“We are in the kitchen and the sun is coming up.” As if to punctuate his point they could hear a door close somewhere nearby.

“Oh.. right. That. Shall we head back to my room then?” Steve was on his feet and pulling Tony after him before the sentence was finished.


End file.
